


Kissing Death and Losing My Breath

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, she wants to be marked. She wants him to hold her so tight that his fingers leave bruises on her skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Death and Losing My Breath

There are nights, in the darkness of Ichigo’s bedroom, when Rukia knows that the man who looms over her as she arches beneath him has golden eyes and a tongue like a weapon. It doesn’t stop her from lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, and doesn’t stop her from leaning into his touch. He still feels like Ichigo, even if she knows he’s not as her nails score down his back and his kisses are biting and hungry.   
  
He whispers filthy things into her ear, things that Ichigo would never say, but that Rukia knows he thinks, because the Hollow says them, and what is the Hollow but the darker facets of Ichigo’s personality made flesh and bone? His mouth is wet heat and stinging teeth against her skin, and Rukia strains toward her climax. She’s drowning in the rush of pleasure through her veins, feeling the oil slick drag of the Hollow’s  _ reiatsu _ against her own, and she revels in the way the Hollow doesn’t treat her like she’s made of glass.   
  
She loves Ichigo, with everything she has, but sometimes, she wants to be marked. She wants him to hold her so tight that his fingers leave bruises on her skin. She wants him to make desperate noises into the join of her neck, wants him to swear, to gasp, to beg, to  _ need _ her the way that the Hollow does.   
  
In the mornings, after those nights, Ichigo watches her warily, shadows behind his eyes. He never asks, but Rukia can feel the questions filling up the silences between them. She ignores them, doesn’t answer them, and they try to push past them, but they linger.

It comes to a head late one night, after the rest of the household is asleep, and Ichigo slides into bed next to her. They’d been out on patrol, and if Rukia’s honest, that’s the only thing that’s never changed. She trusts him to have her back, like she trusts no one else, and she always will. Ichigo sweeps a hand down her flank, fingers trailing gently against her skin. His silence feels taut in a way it never has before.

“Do you know when it’s not me?” Ichigo’s voice is quiet, quiet enough that if she wanted to, Rukia could pretend she was asleep and didn’t hear him. She flirts briefly with doing just that before she rolls over and looks him in the eye. He stares straight back at her, and Rukia feels a flash of shame, wondering for the first time if he sees her through the Hollow’s eyes.

“I watch you with him,” Ichigo says after the silence stretches and at the confirmation of her unasked question, the shame in Rukia’s gut spreads into a flush that covers her cheeks. “Why do you let him hurt you?”

“He doesn’t hurt me,” Rukia says immediately, and Ichigo scoffs.

“I’ve seen the bruises. Don’t lie to me.”

“He doesn’t hurt me any more than I let him,” Rukia amends, reaching out to cup Ichigo’s chin. “Do you think if I didn’t want him to hurt me, that he could? And besides, he’s you.”

“He is  _ not _ me!” Ichigo hisses. His eyes spark with fury, and Rukia feels the line of his body tense against hers. He jerks his chin out of her hand. “How can you say that? How can you believe that - that  _ thing _ is me?” Ichigo’s voice breaks. He can’t quite shutter the raw despair that flashes through his eyes and Rukia’s heart clenches in her chest. 

“He  _ is _ you,” Rukia repeats, softer this time, “he’s a part of you. How could I love you without loving him too?” 

Ichigo recoils from Rukia’s touch, and all but flies out of bed. “How can - you couldn’t - what do you –?” Ichigo’s voice is strangled with emotion. He paces, back and forth, back and forth. Rukia watches him and feels the tension bleeding out of him; the roiling emotions she knows he’s barely keeping a grasp on. She can sense the way his  _ reiatsu _ sparks and flares before he tugs it in ruthlessly. 

“Ichigo,” Rukia tries, but Ichigo slashes a hand at her, and she falls silent. He’s furious, she can feel it colouring the air around him. He’s stopped pacing, and is standing, facing the wall, hands clenching and unclenching around the air. The lines of his body are hard and unyielding, and when he turns, Rukia can’t help her gasp.. 

The cock of his head would tell her even if the golden pupils and inky black sclera didn’t give it away. The Hollow grins, wicked and full of teeth. “You know,” he says conversationally, “I  _ really  _ could hurt you.”

“But you wouldn’t,” Rukia retorts, sitting up in bed, tugging the covers up over her chest. The Hollow leers at her, one corner of his mouth lifting in a grin so reminiscent of Ichigo it makes her heart stutter in her chest. 

“No,” the Hollow agrees, “I wouldn’t. But only ‘cause then it’d start fucking raining again. And he mopes.” The Hollow stiffens and Rukia gets a flash of Ichigo’s indignant expression on the Hollow’s face before he goes on. “Besides, you’re the  _ Queen _ .” 

Rukia ignores the inflection and focuses on the word, “queen?”

“No,” the Hollow argues, “the Queen.” This time Rukia hears the title, not just the word and something unclenches in her chest. The Hollow blinks and when he opens his eyes, it’s Ichigo staring back at her from across the room. 

“He’s always called you that,” Ichigo says offhand. He scrubs a hand across his face, and shakes his head. When his eyes come up again, they bore into Rukia’s and she feels pinned by his stare. 

“He says he only hurts you ‘cause you like it. He says you like it when he pushes you, when he digs in, when he holds on so hard his hands leave marks. He says you like it when he uses his teeth.” Ichigo stalks across the room, and Rukia feels a swoop of something dark and hot go through her. “Tell me Rukia,” Ichigo says, standing right in front of her where she’s kneeling on the bed, sheets held to her chest with a trembling hand. “Is it true?” Ichigo’s voice is low and dark, and there’s something of the Hollow in the way his lips curve into a smile when Rukia gasps as he threads the fingers of one of his hands into her hair to cup the back of her skull. 

He leans in, so close that Rukia can feel his breath ghosting across her lips. “Tell me,” he repeats, and his grip on her hair tightens. Rukia can’t help the arch of her back nor the whimper that escapes her mouth at the tingle in her scalp. 

“Yes,” Rukia says. It comes out in a rush of breath. “Yes,” she repeats, steadier this time, and Ichigo’s eyes darken. His mouth crashes into hers and Rukia swallows his groan. She tugs him back onto the bed with her, and he follows her down, tearing the sheet off her as he goes. His mouth is relentless against hers, and Rukia gives herself over to him. 

He maps her skin, the peaks and the valleys. He looks up at her from between her thighs, and for a moment, Rukia is sure his eyes flash molten gold. He raises an eyebrow, and spreads her legs with his shoulders, one hand on her hip to hold her down. Rukia arches into the first touch of his tongue, and her hands land in his hair, fingers tunnelling through it and nails scraping his scalp. He groans into her centre and Rukia feels the vibrations rattle through her. 

He takes her apart like he’s been born to it, and Rukia bucks under his mouth. She won’t last, and he doesn’t let her, just licks and sucks and fucks her with his fingers until she’s keening his name on every breath and when she comes she curls up off the bed as her vision whites out at the crest of her pleasure and she loses herself entirely her climax.

She comes back to herself to find Ichigo watching her, his head resting on one of her thighs. She lifts a shaking hand to pat his hair, and he smiles into her skin. “Get up here,” she says, voice hoarse. Ichigo does, and she tastes herself on his lips when he kisses her. She breaks the kiss, dodging his questing mouth - it lands on her neck, where he sucks a bruise into her skin, one that Rukia will hide under a scarf and think about every time she sees it until it heals - and hooks her legs around his hips. 

He goes with her when she rolls, and she sinks down on him, inch by torturous inch, until he is fully sheathed within her. His hands on her hips are tight enough to bruise, and Rukia rests her hands on the centre of his chest and rolls her hips. Their eyes meet, and Rukia raises herself, before driving back down. Ichigo bucks into her, and they chase each other towards the peak. 

When the tension snaps and the pleasure rockets through her, turning all her blood to fire, Ichigo’s mouth goes slack around her name, and his head thunks back against the bed. Rukia’s voice gives out entirely. 

After, she rests on his chest, the thundering of his heartbeat loud in her ears. Ichigo’s palm fits around the curve of her skull, his fingers buried in her hair. “I won’t let him hurt you,” Ichigo murmurs and Rukia lifts her head. Ichigo’s eyes are half-lidded and still hazy from pleasure. “I won’t,” he repeats, losing the end of his sentence to a yawn. 

“I know,” Rukia says, “I know.” 


End file.
